


(is there?) a hand to take hold of the scene

by gubeldood208



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Or More Like, Post-Season/Series 01 Finale, disregards everything from season two onwards, in other words this is old old old, oh sweet summer child, written in a time when Jeff and Annie hooking up over the summer seemed like a legit possibility, you didn't know what was to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:52:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6218905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gubeldood208/pseuds/gubeldood208
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He watches idly as Vaughn still goes on up there. Probably about God being in the butterflies or something. Jeff stretches, leans back, and prepares to mentally check out. There is really nothing that could get him to pay any attention to whatever train wreck is about to happen on that stage.</p>
<p>“So ladies and dudes, I give you So Many Worries, Not Cool’s latest: Jeff Wiener--in parenthesis--Is a B.”</p>
<p>...Except that. </p>
<p>Or, the one where Vaughn writes a song about Jeff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(is there?) a hand to take hold of the scene

**Author's Note:**

> My nineteen year old self wrote this as a Ficcy Friday response (shoutout to Milady/Milord. Shoutout to lj in general, man it has been a while) for the prompt "Vaughn writes a song about Jeff." I've edited it a bit from what I originally posted- just mostly some grammar stuff. Also bear in mind that I wrote this after only one season of the show was out and had apparently very little memory of what the layout of the cafeteria table section of the caf actually looked like. I also had no clue what the Anthropology class would end up looking like either so. Lots of discrepancy in this fic but what can y' doooo.

In hindsight, it’s probably a good idea for Jeff to start avoiding the cafeteria in general. Nothing good ever comes of that place and he’s not just talking about the everything-but-chicken-fingers food. 

No, the caf has only ever given him unwanted introductions to hostile, imbecile high school dweebs (he’d call them Smitties, if he hadn’t already wiped the word from his vocabulary. Psh, like Jeff is going to do them the favor of pushing their lame term one step closer to urbandictionary acknowledgement. Let them fulfill their _own_ dreams. Losers.), unwanted confrontations with testosterone hyped winter doodle obsessed douchebags (Jeff has no sympathy for anyone who messes with his friends or his face.), and, most recently, unwanted declarations of spotlighted, crowd present, microphone broadcast, totally unexpected nor prepared for love. Twice. If that isn’t mentally scarring, Jeff didn't know what _is_. Effing cafeteria.

(There is a catch with that last example though. Because as painful as the love dilemma was? Kinda played a role in him getting together with Annie. And there’s no way he could ever look back on that and wish it hadn’t happened. The whole experience taught him that sometimes you have to go through some downright uncomfortable things to figure out what you really want. He gets that now, and now he’s got _Annie_. And this past summer was probably (definitely) the best one of his life. 

And he is also a girl, and any moment now will burst into a rendition of Summer Lovin’ complete with choreography and black spandex, yeah, he knows, whatever, so Annie’s turned him into a sap. It’s embarrassing, he’s accepted it, let’s move on.)

That’s right: effing cafeteria. Just because one tiny little great thing might have come in a round about way from _one_ of these caf moments does _not_ mean that Jeff is in any way willing to set it all aside and embrace the building with open arms. In fact, he should remind himself to constantly be on the defensive against other cafeteria induced nerve damaging occurrences just waiting to tack themselves onto the tally of “Things That Bother Jeff”. In other words, he shouldn’t have stepped through those doors the first day back from what had been a nice, relaxing (amazing) summer. 

God he wishes he hadn’t.

Because as of now it seems he can add to the list: “reintroductions to his girlfriend’s supposed-to-be-in-Delaware hippie ex-boyfriend who has—judging by the vast number of oooh-let-me-stare-into-your-SOUL faced posters slung about—apparently changed his band’s name from Some Worries to So Many Worries, Not Cool.” 

_That_ can’t be good. 

As Vaughn and his renegade band of beatniks set up over in the rec corner, Jeff glances over to their usual spot, where Annie is sitting with Shirley and, yuh-oh, Britta. 

Here’s the thing. Just because he and Annie are happy doesn’t mean they’re stupid enough to share this with the study group. You might have to go through some uncomfortable things to get what you want, but if the group finds out that what he wants is their nineteen-year-old princess, widely confirmed “baby” of the bunch? Things would get bumped from “uncomfortable” to “a whole new level of pain previously unfathomable” faster than Annie could whip out a Disney face in defense. (And that's saying something. Annie can pull those on pretty fast. Jeff is speaking from experience here.)

Anyway, he and Britta might be cool now (after the most awkward cup of coffee ever shared, about two weeks into the summer. Britta would barely look him in the eye and Jeff admittedly held a pretty intense staring contest with his latte foam for awhile there, but eventually what needed to be said got said, love proclamations got refuted, and Britta apologized, and Jeff apologized, and they hugged an uncomfortable goodbye filled with self-deprecating chuckles and shrugs, and went their separate ways) but Jeff isn’t deluded enough to think Britta is anywhere near ready to hear that Jeff ran straight from her moment of feeling into Annie’s open arms. (Which was _not_ technically what happened but, y’know. Try telling _her_ that. If they tell her. Which they won’t.) 

And as for Shirley, well. She’s more than likely to immediately start scanning the vicinity for the nearest jukebox. (Knowing his luck, the cafeteria probably _has_ one.)

So yeah. Secret relationship. That is the plan and they are sticking with it and it is working just fine and will continue to do so. Positive thinking and all that crap. So with that mindset Jeff strides over, not too fast, keeping it chilled; cocking a nod at some imaginary acquaintance to the left, lifting a finger in some fake acknowledgement to the right, and finally sitting down at their table with an easy smile, the very image of cool, calm, not at all anxious with the situation or unnerved in the slightest by some shirtless no-named’s reappearance _togetherness_.

“That seemed contrived. Ten points for the slow mo entrance though. If you’d have let me know beforehand that that was the scene, I would have asked Silent Agnes if I could borrow her cooling fan and had it ready for you. I’m in with the cooks here. You seem tense Jeff. What’s stressing you?”

Aaaand when the hell did Abed get there. How had he missed that.

Also: shit. 

“Happy school’s start to you too, Abed. And in answer to your question, nothing. I must just be stiff with the joy of seeing you all once more. Shirley, Britta, Annie,” flashing a friendly smile to each (maybe taking extra care with the ‘friendly’ on that last one. With Abed at the table there is no such thing as ‘too cautious’.)

Annie doesn’t seem to realize this if the beam she shoots him back is anything to go by. Does the girl not know what she does to him? He will have to discuss this seriously with her at some later point. 

Some _soon_ later point. Like at his apartment. …With hands-on demonstrations… Or y’know, the school _does_ have a janitors’ closet…

Crap, Shirley was saying something and he completely missed it. _Get your shit together, Winger._ He is not some lovesick teenage boy who can afford to drift off into happy daydreams about fun things that happen in relationships when he should have been focusing on what _really_ matters. Pretending said relationship does not exist. He forces himself to pay attention to Shirley and her moving lips.

“-and by the time I realized it was body paint, Jordan was already head to toe purple so the motel gave us free mini bar access. It was nice! And how were your summers?” Shirley looks around the table with an inviting grin. 

Britta launches into a story about some two-week trip to Acapulco complete with Mai Tais and a quintessential important cause (Teaching the natives to read or something. Jeff doesn’t know, he’d been distracted by Annie playing with the condensation on her cup.) and Abed tells tales of some film festival Jeff’s never heard of before but will more than likely be able to list the entire chronological set to, complete with individual plot summaries by the end of the day. 

He had missed these guys.

In the middle of this friendly warm feeling, Britta nudges Annie gently with a sympathetic big sister look. “How was your summer, Annie? I’m sorry Delaware fell through. Vaughn’s an idiot; you deserve way better than him.” 

Jeff can read Britta’s face like a book. And this one’s title is a very open “We’re here for you”. Or “We care about you.” Or “We can cause him some pain if you need us to.” The thing with Britta is, she is a genuinely _good_ person. Sure she can be a bit of a buzzkill, and a little bit hard-assed, and sometimes she struggles with social situations. But underneath all that, Britta is an undeniable softy with a big heart who loves her friends and will always go the extra mile for them.

It makes lying to her about something like this really _really_ hard. 

By the look on Annie’s suddenly pale face, she seems to agree. “Oh! No. No, no,” she flusters, shifting in her seat and making small waving motions with her hands, as if she hoped to shoo the whole awkward topic right out of the air. ( _That_ doesn’t happen, but at least it brings some color back to her cheeks.) “Britta, thank you. That is,” a slight flinch here “…so sweet. But no, Vaughn was a really nice guy about everything. Our breaking up had nothing to do with him. It was actually all me. I just realized that, well. Greendale is where I belong right now. With you guys.” She meets everyone’s eyes and gives each a smile. 

And if, amongst the coos of “Awww, Aaannie,” and “Cool,” and “Oh that’s nice!”, she meets Jeff’s eyes first… and then last…and holds the gaze for maybe a second or so longer than with the other three? Well, he _is_ sitting right across from her. You’ll obviously look more at someone right across from you then you would others. And any softness in either of their eyes could be explained away as the result of poor cafeteria lighting. Right?

Shit. Maybe not. Abed is giving them the squinted eye, like he gets every time some piece of the puzzle is about to fall in place, and it is damned _frightening_. Jeff scrambles to think of some kind of distraction, and grasps at the first thing that comes to mind. (That has _been_ on his mind since the moment he stepped foot in the cafeteria.) 

“So, speaking of MackaClangClang Jr.,” Jeff gestures over to where Vaughn is in the middle of a set, crooning out a gem that seems to be titled ‘Skin Is What You’re Born In’. Yeah. “What’s brought him back to _this_ fine institution. Did Delaware spit him out?” 

Annie shoots him a reproachful look and shakes her head, but then glances uneasily over her shoulder. When she’s seemingly convinced herself that Vaughn won’t be overhearing this next little disclosure (which, duh, he’s obviously too busy rhyming things like ‘merit’ and ‘carpet’. Don’t ask), she leans forward slightly. The rest of the table instantly follows suit (Shirley with the gleeful “Ooh!” of a true gossip hound.) and Annie begins to speak with a hushed voice. 

“I don't know actually. He seemed pretty okay on the night of the dan- of the breakup. He was upset, but he seemed like he understood. And he promised he’d write from Delaware! Actual letters. He said email was really the Man sucking you into his corporate scheme,” Annie scrunches her nose to show her thoughts on that line of thinking. “But then today when I came into the caf to wait for you guys, I saw him and was… well, I was going to say hi at least. But when I went up to him, he wouldn’t look at me. And he definitely saw me. He glared. I don't know.” 

By the last few lines Annie’s voice has dropped to something small and unmistakably hurt. She’s studying her hands with an intensity that Jeff has come to know means she’s reliving high school days. He feels himself growing increasingly upset as Britta and Shirley offer their cooing words for Annie and scorn for the douche. 

‘Cause fuck this asshole for putting her in that space. God, all he wants to do is reach across the table and take Annie’s hand. He wants to sling an arm around her and pull her close to him, where things are better. He wants to kick Vaughn in the shins. He wants to pull an Abed on his guitar. 

And he can’t do any of these things because of the secret. Secret, secret, secret. 

Jeff wants to punch something. 

“Huh. That’s interesting.” Abed observes, glancing from Jeff to Annie which is... Crap. 

“Abed!” Shirley reprimands. “That’s not what you say to a girl who’s hurting! Annie sweetie, later we’ll take that ass’s cell phone and flush it down the toilet.” Shirley pats her hand with a sympathetic smile. Then her voice drops three decibels and the pat turns into a _grip_. “And do you know where he keeps his apartment keys.”

Annie’s eyes widen in (probably justified—you never know with Shirley) alarm and she seems to shake herself out of it, stiltedly freeing her hand from Shirley’s clamp and waving it in a sweep of dismissal. “Guys, no. I’m being silly. Vaughn and I are over and I’m totally okay with that. I don't know why I’m being such a baby over one mean look. He’s probably just having a bad day. Maybe someone finally told him hacky sack isn’t actually a sport,” she jokes with a smile to show how absolutely unaffected she is. Jeff laughs (Not even to make her feel better; it was _funny_ ) which makes Annie’s smile even brighter. “Let’s just forget it and move on.”

Great. Jeff is definitely up for a topic change now.

Abed turns and peers at him. “So how was _your_ summer Jeff?” 

Okay, so that isn’t exactly the change he’s looking for. 

“Oh mine? Great!” Yeeeah, that Minnie Mouse voice will have to go. Jeff clears his throat and drops it a few decibels. “Lazy. Bonded with the TV a bit. Just kinda chilled. Did some…lawyer things, you know, to keep the skills sharp. Oh hey, there’s Troy and Pierce!” Okay so it might be a tad pathetic but Jeff is willing to grasp at any straw he can to save him from Abed’s soul-seeing gaze. 

And as it turns out, that was the perfect straw. Abed instantly drops the inquisition and put on his eager eyes instead. Which, granted, don’t look too different from his normal eyes. But Jeff can tell these things. 

“YO YO Greendale, T-Bone is in the HOWWWSE,” Troy hip-hops his way over to the table (Abed providing an impromptu beatbox theme) and sits down on a slung-backwards chair next to Abed, where the two do their patent chest-hand-secret-love-tap thing. Soon the group is chatting out a chorus of hellos and catching up.

Pierce, not to be outdone, sits down beside Jeff and loudly announces “Pierce, uh..P-Shizzle Dawg-Steak is inside the house too!” and then proceeds to inexplicably slap at Jeff’s pecs and knock over his water all in the same move. 

“Haaaaaaaa!” Troy rocks back and slaps his thigh “Jeff looks like he peed his pants! It’s funny because he didn’t, but other people won’t know!”

“A classic scene of cafeteria humiliation. Now Jeff just needs to stand and trip onto his lunch tray. He should buy a chocolate milk first though. Troy.”

“On it.”

Jeff’s eyes close in… yeah. That would be frustration. “ _Pierce_. Aside from obviously not being satisfied with the amount of water content in my pants, was there some _reason_ you chose to greet me with a physical attack? Or was that just a partial seizure.” 

“Oh Jeffrey, stop being such a square. Obviously that was our best bud secret hand greeting. You know, when I lived on the streets, which is of course where I got my lengthy moniker—they dole out the length according to the ‘you know what’ size, if you catch my drift.—Anyway, it was that intricate gang hand symbol that saved me from a life of prostitution! You know Jeffrey I always say-“

“UGHH,” Britta sits forward with a jolt, jerking her arms out in a frustrated gesture. “Pierce, do you _realize_ how offensive what you’re saying is right now? Prostitution and gang-life is no joking matter. Did you know that 69 percent of prostitutes in the US have been diagnosed with posttraumatic stress disorder? These girls need-“

“Ohhh, save it Brittles. I have as much respect for call girls as any other. I dated one, remember?” Pierce rolls his eyes and puts a splayed hand over his mouth, angling his head towards Jeff. “Guess vacay didn’t loosen the stick up _her_ ass, huh.” 

“Okay!” Jeff jumps in before Britta gets stretched any closer to snapping point, “So I think we can all agree that it is just _fantastic_ being reunited in the bonds of friendship here at this table again. And I think now would be just the perfect moment to-“ he’s interrupted by Pierce screeching his chair back across the linoleum.

“Oooh, gonna have to cut you off there Jeffy. I’m being summoned.” Pierce chuckles abashedly and nods over to where Vaughn is standing, mouth to mic, arm outstretched in a gesture to Pierce. 

“Thank you audience, I appreciate it, it’s been real. For my last song I’m going to call up my old nemesis Pierce. We might be locked in an epic rap-off battle but we collabbed on this one and-” blah, blah, blah, Jeff tunes him out and turns his attention back to Pierce.

“Pierce. This is the guy who you used to _fart_ on at every available opportunity.”—Annie gasps a shrill “What?!”—“Are you _really_ part of his band again?”

“Jeff, I hear what you’re saying. And no, that little turd _wishes_ I was a permanent member! But when he called over the summer asking, _begging_ , for my assistance… Well as a music lover, I could hardly say no. Just listen up, Jeffrey. You might learn something.” With that, Pierce heads over to where Vaughn is _still_ talking into the mic. 

Annie pulls her backpack off the floor and starts to collect her things. “So, as much fun as it’s been learning that the guy I used to kiss spent a good amount of that time doused in,” she made a face, “ Pierce outgassing. Anthropology starts in thirty minutes and I want to head over and get a good seat. Say sorry to Pierce for me?”

Jeff cocks an eyebrow. “Annie. You do realize this is _Greendale_ and that the day someone fights you for a seat in the first row is the day I willingly become lead groupie to Chang’s keytar band.”

Annie huffs. “Jeff, first impressions are important. And what if someone gets there before me and takes the spot best for optimal learning? My entire future in the class could change. My impression could be _lessened_.” 

Seeing that Jeff is biting back a grin, Annie sticks her nose in the air and looks at him sternly. (Probably only he can recognize the teasing in her eyes. And probably only he is being driven _crazy_ by it.) “Besides, don’t make promises you can’t follow through. I have it on good authority that the incoming frosh class is particularly eager this year. And Chang would _love_ to get you in a woman’s suit.”

Jeff shudders. “Okay, well. I had been planning on eating, but looks like you fixed that,” he shoots her a fake glare.

Annie giggles and shakes her head at him. “You brought that on yourself. I take zero responsibility for any nausea and/or future nightmares.”

“Zero? Really? I can’t get rid of the image of me in a pink slender ladies’ and you take _zero_ responsibility.” 

“Agh, fine, fine!” she does this cute little bounce as she shuffles in place. “You’re a big, strong manly man and Chang would shatter his delicate-in-comparison fingers should he even _attempt_ to feminize you, happy?” she raises her eyebrows, head cocked to the side, and smiles at him, 

“Hmmmm yep. That about does it.” Jeff rolls his shoulders in a stretch and starts to push his chair out. “But since my appetite is still stuck cowering in terror somewhere, why don’t I just go with you. I’ll help you fight off the hoards of rabid freshmen lying in wait for your seat.”

“Jeff!” Annie hops backwards a few steps, shaking her head. “You can’t _leave_. Pierce won’t care if I miss it, but he’ll be _crushed_ if you’re not here. You know how he lives to impress you. You have to stay.“

“Blaaaaaaaaaaah,” Jeff groans and slumps back down in his seat. 

Annie shakes her head at him gently, gives a small laugh through her nose, and scolds. “Don’t whine.” Her voice is a little soft and a lot affectionate. Jeff glances up and feels his lips quirk into a-

“A-hem,” Abed says.

Both Annie and Jeff turn to look at him. It doesn’t seem like he has something to say though. He’s already staring off into the distance (at a ceiling fan or something.)

“Abed?” Jeff prompts.

“Hm?” Abed turns his attention back to Jeff.

“What was that.”

“What was what?”

Jeff shoots Annie a quick weirded look and tries again. “What was the _‘A-hem’_.”

“Oh. Nothing. It’s just we’d reached the point in the scene where the bantering couple typically gets interrupted by an unexpected noise, reminding them of their in-public state and adding a layer of awkwardness and tension once they become hyper-aware of their audience.” He looks back and forth between them. “But I suppose I might have overshot. If you want to go back to your private chat while we all sit here and observe you, that’d be cool. In thirty seconds I can cough.” Abed smiles, pleased to be helpful.

Jeff blinks. Abed had used the word ‘couple’. Jeff’s mind isn't working.

Annie however seems to have retained brain function (even if her eyes are a little wide and dare-he-say frantic.). “No! That’s okay!” She perkily (shrilly) turns down Abed’s offer and pivots on a foot to wave to the group as a whole. “I’m just going to go now. I’ll see you all in class.” Shirley nods, smiling but with an underlying uneasiness in her gaze. Britta is also raising an eyebrow. Annie smiles even brighter-- “Bye!”—and leaves.

They might have to start avoiding Abed.

“So,” Britta turned to him, eyebrow still voicing her skeptic opinions. “You and Annie seem close.” Her voice was vaguely hesitant, but not accusing or anything.

Jeff goes on the defensive anyway. “No closer than we always are. Abed’s running commentary just tricks us into forgetting that—Sorry, Abed—our lives are _not_ TV. If they were, then Shirley _would_ be Troy’s mother, just separated at birth and with amnesia; Pierce would be my father, Abed would have an evil twin, and I would be locked into a passionate love quadrangle with Britta, Annie, and Silent Agnes. And as awesome slash horrifying as that all sounds, I frankly prefer reality and would like to continue living in it. Now who’s with me?”

Shirley claps and oohs, utterly convinced. Britta rolls her eyes, but still smiles. Abed tilts his head in consideration. 

“Yeah, but our genre isn-“

Jeff has no qualms whatsoever about cutting him off there. “So! Now that that’s settled, I say we sit back and give Pierce and his band of hippies the attention they so totally deserve.”

Ha. Yeah. That was a line of bullshit. He watches idly as Vaughn _still_ goes on up there. Probably about God being in the butterflies or something. Jeff stretches, leans back, and prepares to mentally check out. There is really nothing that could get him to pay any attention to whatever train wreck is about to happen on that stage.

“So ladies and dudes, I give you So Many Worries, Not Cool’s latest: Jeff Weiner—in parenthesis—Is a B.”

…Except that. 

Jeff sits like he’s been slapped. Slapped by the girly hand of totally unexpected, how is this even happening, _hippie_ insult. 

And judging by the wide eyes he’s now getting from, oh, every person in the immediate vicinity up to and including the janitor in the corner, he is apparently once again the public spectacle of the cafeteria. 

God. Dammit.

Vaughn nods to the Rastafarian chick, cueing her to start plucking out the opening notes, and then turns to the audience, strums his guitar, closes his eyes (god, what a douche) and begins. 

_There is good inside all people_  
_Mother nature bleeds pure blood_  
_The zen of peace surrounds us_  
_And loveshine fights Hate Floods_  
_And the sap of all this pureness_  
_To mankind, see it stick_  
_Except to one! In this case:_  
_This dude’s just a dick._

Okay, what the hell. Since when did Vaughn hate him?

Well. There was that whole first poem mocking incident thing, but they had gotten past that. Not to the point of liking each other or anything. (Jeff _had_ wanted to bust his guitar up just moments ago. And now is wishing he’d followed through with that urge. If not for the sake of his damaged pride, than because ~no one~ should ever have to hear the word “Loveshine” in any kind of serious sentence.), but they are still relatively cool. Give the three hellos and everything. (Loveshine. Seriously.) 

In the background, Vaughn continues with his musical genius.

_Jeeeeeeeeeeff Wiiiiiiinger_  
_He’s a dang son of a B_  
_Keep givin’ second chances,_  
_But the bro takes more than three-_

“Sorry it took so long.” Troy finally returns to collapse at the table, arms full of a multitude of… stuff. Whatever, forgive Jeff for being a _tad_ distracted. “They were out of chocolate milk,” Troy begins to the group, mostly addressing Abed. “So I was like, I’ll fix _this_ sad with cookies. But then I thought, ho damn, I should buy some normal milk to go with the cookies! And I was gonna come back after that, but it hit me like: snap! We’re gonna need a _straw_ to drink this milk. And I’ve got your napkins right here, cause we both know how I spill things...” He trails off, finally registering the slack-jaw expressions on his friends’ faces. “What is it? Oh god, do I have a milk mustache?? I swore _never_ again! Britta, lend me a mirror!!” 

“SHH!” Troy gets hushed from five different directions. Three of them not even at this table. 

“Troy sit down and zip your mouth Vaughn is singin’ bout Jeff,” Shirley lets out in one stern breath, fluttering a hand in a down motion hurriedly, full focus still on McShirtless. 

Jeff glares at Shirley and Britta (the remaining Shh’er). “Hey, thanks guys. No really. It’s great to know you’ve got my back.”

( _Jeeeeeeeeeeff Wiiiiiiinger_  
_He’s got no saving grace._  
_And it’s high time someone step up_  
_And put him in his place)_

Britta pauses a second from her rapt attention to roll her eyes toward Jeff and smirk. “Oh I’m sorry, Jeff. Is Vaughny hurting you’re feeeeeeelings? Should we go find the Dean and tell him he’s calling naaaames?” 

“No need! I’m already here!” Dean Pelton leaps over to join their table. “And _heeere_ is the man of the hour!” he turns enthusiastically to Jeff and squeezed his shoulder. “Ooh! Muscley. Tell me, is there something special you do for that, Jeffrey that a hypothetical person who wanted to bench press, say, a life-size stuffed animal,” he pauses to glance around the group “which is not too uncommon, might be able to, ah, attempt?” 

At Jeff’s silent stare, the Dean backtracks. “No? No, of course not. These are all just,” another squeeze, “good genes and I’ll let my friend—well not _my_ friend; a _friend’s_ friend—be sure to know. And OH! Just, wow.” The Dean pauses in the midst of his painful-for-everyone-involved ramble to bow his head and close his eyes in obvious bliss. He raises a hand to his chest. “Just _listen_ to that chorus. Stunning. Jeffrey you should feel truly honored to have this class of musical gradient performed in homage to you. And about the,” air-quotes “ _name-calling_ well, I know teasing when I hear it! We’re all friends here. In fact speaking of, Britta would you mind if I-” he reaches out to pluck Britta’s lighter from where it’d been sticking out her purse pocket, “Iiiii”ll return it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get a better spot.” 

The Dean, who had been backing up slowly through that last sentence, turns with a skip and proceeds to push his way through the (steadily increasing. _Damn_ it.) crowd, letting out high-pitched “Oop! Exsqueeze me!”s and “Don’t want to step on any toesies!” until he finally gets a space right up by the stage. 

Aaaaand yep. There was Britta’s lighter. The Dean is swaying it like this is some kind of Zeppelin homage and not what it _really_ is: a bottom-of-the-barrel stoner (or at least, he’s pretty sure. It would explain a lot.) band singing a crappy, so ridiculous it’s not even insulting song.

Well okay. It’s still kinda insulting. And also apparently never-ending.

_So here’s my public service!_  
_Here’s where I give em’ proof_  
_And count out all the many ways_  
_That Jeff_  
_Wiiiiiing_  
_eeeeeeeer’s_  
_A dooooooouche:_

“COUNT’EM ONE!” Pierce finally chimes in with an enthusiastic backup role. Vaughn slings his guitar round on his back and grips the mic free from its stand, all too ready to hit this next part,--

_In the compost bin of friendships  
he’s the wrong kind of manure_

—cueing Pierce with a pointed finger—

“PEOPLE POOOO”

_In the hacky sack circle of life,  
he’s a dropped kick in the sewer_

“NUMBER TWOOO”

_In the coffee line of freedom  
He’s the shirt they make you wear_

“ITCHY TAAAAAAGGGS”

_In the tousled locks of liberty  
He’s the corporate gel in hair_

“HE’S A F- GAAAAAAAAAAAY.” 

(Pierce cuts off with a sudden alarmed glance at the Dean in the middle there… Three guesses why.)

_In the fluffy clouds of joyness_  
_He’s the one with acid rain Yeah,_  
_there’s nothing cool with this man_  
_And one more time his naaaaaaaaaaaaaaame_

(If it is really just one more time, Jeff will eat his Blackberry.) 

_Is JEEEEEEEFF ~WEIIIIIIIIIIIINER~  
Even his name says he’s a dick!_

(“Oh my god,” from Troy. “How did I not see it before?!”)

_Jeeeeeeeeeeeeff Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnger  
Can’t keep his hands off other’s chicks-_

Jeff feels everyone at the table’s eyes shift to him. Huh. …Where’s that Blackberry? Because choking is starting to sound like a not-too-bad means out of this.

Okay, still staring at him. Okay. 

Jeff (and he compliments himself for this) does _not_ falter. Much. Instead he pulls a “Psh, what’s _this_ dimwat talking about” face, complete with the patent Winger Eyebrows of Skepticism. Better not to say anything; let the face do his talking for him. Let them draw their own face-guided conclusions.

Shirley obliges. “You know something Jeff, that poor boy probably heard about you and Britta. Looks like there were still some feelings there. Mmm.” Shirley shakes her head and hums in…sympathy? He doesn’t know, but he’s jumping on it.

“You know what, Shirley, you’re _right_.” 

“What??” Britta pulls a face. “There’s no waa-“

“ _No_ Britta, Shirley definitely has something there,” Jeff cuts her off with his _I’m serious and know what I’m talking about-- Submit_ voice. “You-”

Then Vaughn, who has repositioned the mic in its stand at some point along the line, rocks forward with both hands clutching it close to his mouth, eyes clenched, and sings:

_He takes a mountain flower  
Plucks her with his poweeeeeeer_

…

Well, shit.

Silence. Jeff trails off as those last two verses fully sink into the minds of the group. 

Maybe he could--? Or mountain flower could be a metaphor for--

Yeah. Nope. He has nothing.

A very pointed cough from Shirley breaks the silence, and Jeff’s gaze falls to focus on the table, his hands, the floor. Anything but his absolute frozen friends. 

“Wait.” Troy is wearing his brain-wrinkled face. “So Vaughn calls _Britta_ Mountain Flower too? Like my version of Sugarbear?” He turns to reassure the group, “It’s for everyone.”

Jeff can physically feel Shirley stiffen from across the table. Britta offers a slow, dangerous “No, Troy.”

“Just Annie.” Abed added helpfully, flicking a single finger of emphasis as he contentedly nibbles a cookie. Meanwhile Vaughn is finishing up Jeff’s personal hell.

_A douche, a liar, a girlfriend thief_  
_This dude is so not cool with me_  
_And this is how I say to he_  
_JEFF WINGER’S SUCH A **B**_.

“Thank you, thanks, bless you all.” Vaughn bows with a flourish to numerous cheers and applause. (Really? Jeff counts this as further evidence towards his “95% of Greendale students are idiots” suspicion.) In the midst of all these triple-repeat-thank-you’s and gag-inducing “modesty”, there is a loud and sudden clash. Pierce has lurched forward from his place behind the keyboard, stumbling into a stray cymbal and practically knocking Rasta Girl off the stage in the process.

“PENIS MIND. GAY INCLINED. STREEETS BEHINNNNNNNND.” He shout-sings into his mic, waving his hands to get noticed. 

Like he could draw more attention to himself than he already has.

Also, no, seriously. Why is he Pierce’s friend again?

“ _Pierce_ ,” Vaughn manages to hassle the mic out of Pierce’s grip, ignoring his squawk of indignation. “I _told_ you those lame lines were scrapped, dude. Accept that. You’re being pathetic!”

“ _I’m_ pathetic?! You wouldn’t know talent if it came up and bit you in the hockey sacks! I _quit_ your band. _Again._ ” Pierce thrusts his head towards where Vaughn is holding the mics. “P-Diddy Steak Dawg, OUT!”

“Get off my stage!”

Pierce makes his way back to the table and sits down with a huff. “That jackass is lucky I skipped my morning burrito today.” 

Jeff notes the change in his companions’ expressions from “Death Threat!” to “Pierce Nausea- Level Three” and can tell a chance when he sees one.

Slowly easing his chair out (hitching his butt up, thusly lessening the pressure of metal legs to floor, thusly preventing a loud screech, thusly drawing _as_ little attention to himself as possible) Jeff begins his great escape. “I’lllllll be right… just gonna go…Vaughn...” He is up and gesturing hazily to the stage, the door, whatever; just five strides away from freedom- _screw_ complete sentences, thank _god_ for long legs.

He bolts. Jeff registers a surprised “Hey!” of indignation from Britta, first to catch on that he is totally ditching them. He calls a “Talk to you guys later!” behind his back and that’s it. Two more steps and he is safe. 

“Hey! Winger!”

Jeeeeeeesus. This fucking cafeteria. (Yeah, Jeff is kinda past the point of mentally censoring himself. Fucking cafeteria.)

Vaughn is behind him, and getting grabby with his arm. As in, he is touching him.

Can Jeff reasonably punch him for this or would that kind of thing be frowned upon? (…and it isn’t the Dean’s frown he’s thinking about.)

Okay, so Annie would probs vote a no to the violence. So… Jeff turns around and faces Vaughn, rubbing his eyebrows with a sharp inhale. He is so going to have a major stress headache by the end of this thing. That isn’t even a guess.

“What, Vaughn. What do you want. What more could you possibly have to say to me. That has to be said here, in this cafeteria, in front of God, and my friends, and sure-to-be countless low-view youtube accounts,” Jeff waves an arm at the many phones and hand-helds raised and capturing the moment for posterity. 

“Jeff, I know about you and Annie. I saw you at the Tranny Dance.”

“Really.” Jeff flat-tones with his very best sarcastic voice. “I totally hadn’t figured that out.”

Jeff actually hadn’t figured that out. In all his panic over his friends finding out about him and Annie, he’s kinda forgotten to question how Vaughn himself knows. 

“Yeah, I realized like, a block after I dropped her off that Annie forgot her special flower hacky sack with my hair in it-” 

–“Oh, sanitary.”—

“-so I was going to return it. Because I cared, man. I _cared_. But she was already kissing _you_.” 

Ooh.

Is Jeff actually going to feel bad about this?

“I guess she’s just a slut.”

That would be a no.

So Jeff hauls off and punches him, the way he’s been wanting to all morning. The way he’s never punched someone before. With _feeling_. Vaughn hits the floor, knocking into someone’s lunch tray as he falls. Jeff shakes out his tightened fingers and looks down at him.

“Don't talk about my girlfriend.” With that, he turns away and pushes through the cafeteria doors into the hallway.

Vaughn, still on the floor, shouts after him “You and me?? We’re not cool!!”

“Yeah, I think that was a lyric in your _song_!”

~#~

Three minutes later and Jeff has made it to the Anthropology classroom. There are people milling about, waiting for class to start, chatting and laughing and acting like this hasn’t just been the most stressful twenty minutes to ever occur in their lives. 

How Jeff envies them.

They aren’t who Jeff wants to see though. 

Annie is sitting, as predicted (fated. _creeded_.) in the front row, writing something down in a notebook with all her pens and pencils and erasers forming a neat rank before her. It is simultaneously endearing and impressive. These desks are _small_. 

Jeff slides into the spot right next to Annie’s and shifts so he is facing her. She glances up, her startled expression instantly blossoming into a smile, and opens her mouth to give some kind of greeting. Jeff cuts in.

“So they know.”

“Hi- Wait. What?”

“They know.”

“They-”

“Yep.”

“All of them?”

“Every one.”

Annie frowns at her notebook as she thinks this over. “…was it the Abed thing?” she asks, glancing hesitantly (adorably) up at him. “Sorry I kind of...left in a hurry.”

“Psh, no,” he dismisses. “Have you no faith in me at all? The Abed thing was cake. It was actually Vaughn.”

“Vaughn? He-”

“Wrote a song.” Jeff deadpans. 

Annie looks at him incredulously. “…a _what_ now?”

“Ye-hah. Listen carefully Annie. Do these words ring any bells?” Jeff clears his throat and jumps a few octaves. “‘Oh _no_ Jeff, you can’t accompany me to our joint class that doesn’t start for half-an-hour giving us the chance to stop for many interesting breaks in closets or hallway nooks, or even if we don’t do that just enjoy each others’ company. _Nooo_. _You_ have to stay and listen to Pierce. Because he luuuuuuuubs you.’ Do you remember this?”

She frowns. “I don't sound like that.” 

“Well,” Jeff bypasses. “ _Loving_ Pierce chose to show this affection by co-writing a song that equated me to a wiener and a B. In the same sentence. Which also happened to be the title.”

Annie blinks. Then quickly scrunches her eyebrows into what is obviously an attempt at a grave expression. But her lips are doing that pursing thing and the eyebrows keep slipping.

“Ugh, fine. Laugh.”

Her face instantly splits in a grin and she shakes with quiet giggles. “Jeff, I’m sorry! It’s just.” She smiles at him with pink cheeks. “Well, it’s kind of funny, you’ve got to admit.”

“Oh do I?” He faces her with a cock of his head and a raised eyebrow, skeptical Jeff at full force. “You’re just lucky I like you.”

Annie pauses, the grin on her face turning into something softer. She looks at him quietly for a moment.

“Yeah.” 

Jeff glances at her with a confused smile. “What?”

“I _am_ lucky.”

Oh. “ _An_ nie.” He groans, strangely embarrassed. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“I know.” She sticks her chin out at him. “But it’s true all the same.”

“No. Look.” Jeff stares down at his desk. “If anyone’s lucky here…” He hesitates but finally meets her eyes. “…it’s me.” 

He feels the blush the instant the words leave his lips, and cringes, closing his eyes in a maybe-if-I-can’t-see-it-it-can’t-see-me attempt. “Wait. That was really, really cheesy. Let’s strike that from the record and I’ll re-do, and we’ll never speak of it again.”

Annie reaches out and grabs his hand, threading their fingers with individual focus and a smile that practically gives off light. “First of all, cheesy? Can be good,” she beams. “And second of all. That line isn’t going _anywhere_. It will remain forever on the record, and when our friends inevitably ask what kind of boyfriend you are…” She pauses. “Once they accept us,”—and puts on her formidable face. “Which they _will_ —well, I’ll have something to pull out and quote-word-for-word now, won’t I.” She finishes with a sweet smile and swings their clasped hands between them.

“Yeah…That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Oh Jeff, when will you admit that _OH_ my god, what happened to your _hand_?!” Annie, suddenly noticing his braised knuckles mid sentence, instantly stops swinging and clutches the hand up to her for closer examination.

“Ah. About that,” he starts, flinching a bit at her proddings, “I might have punched Vaughn.”

She gives a shrill laugh. “Might?” 

“So I definitely punched Vaughn.”

“ _Jeff_!”

“Annie, I’m not sorry. He had it coming.”

“ _Jeff_ , I know the song thing is obnoxious and frankly juvenile but go easy on him okay? He’s going through a tough time. I heard in the hall coming here that he played so poorly at Delaware’s hacky team practices, they rescinded their _offer_.”

“Heh. Well that’s probably our fault. He saw us at the dance in the midst of trying to _give you his hair_. Wasn’t exactly happy about it.” Jeff’s expression darkens. “He said some things.”

Annie senses the change in his demeanor and gives a guess. “…About me?”

Jeff doesn't answer but his shoulders tense and a muscle jumps in his jaw. That is all the confirmation Annie needs.

“Oh.” Her face falls a little and Jeff feels like he could go back and knock the punk out all over again and it wouldn't be enough. But just as he thinks that, a small light sparks in Annie’s eyes, something dawning in her expression, and she turns to him enquiringly. 

“Jeff. Did you punch Vaughn because of _me_?”

He blinks at her. “Maybe.”

Annie ghosts her fingers over his swollen knuckles, looking down at his hand cupped in hers. She plays with his fingers.

“No one’s ever defended me before.” Her voice is thick. Jeff watches her with an expression that any one of the students filing in would probably call schmoopy. He doesn’t care.

Very gently, Annie lifts his hand in both of hers and kisses it.

Jeff can’t help but smile. “Isn’t this situation usually reversed? Milady?”

Annie stands and offers a hand grandly. “Come on. Let’s go get you some ice. Milord.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “But class starts any minute. What about your optimal learning seat? What about your good impression?”

She gives a small shrug of her shoulders. “I’m pretty smart. And I’m pretty nice too. I guess a middle seat won’t kill me.”

Jeff grins. “You forgot to mention modest.” He stands and offers her his arm, which she takes with a giggle. They turn, preparing to exit.

And instead come face to face with the group.

The pair goes rigid, arms still linked, frozen before this encounter (that they really should have expected. Hi, yeah. Joint class.). Annie’s eyes go wide, but she thrusts her chin up and holds eye contact. Jeff feels her straighten to her full potential height, like how a cat arches when threatened. Jeff just stands his ground. He is past trying to hide how he feels. Funny to think that just an hour ago his mindset was so emphatically different.

They both stand silently and wait for a reaction.

Surprisingly enough, it’s Britta that steps forward. 

“So, just because you guys are like, sickeningly cute does not mean we’re cool with this yet.”

Abed pipes up. “I’m cool with it.”

“It’s weird but not a bad weird? You just _expect_ it to be bad, but then it turns out good and you’re like: damn! Like butt stuff. That’s you guys.”

“Jeffrey, I’d like to offer up my services as a mid-coitus erotic photographer. I think that if we combine our efforts, we can make that no-nipples _cry_. Let me give you my card-”

“Okay!” Britta thankfully cuts off before things got any more traumatizing than they already had. “So: does not mean we’re _all_ cool with it.” Shirley gives a curt nod of her head. Britta continues “And we _will_ be continuing this discussion in study group.” She points a finger of no-refusing at Jeff then Annie then back and forth again. 

Annie, who had briefly faltered at all the butt stuff/coitus talk, shakes herself out of it and nods resolutely. “We’re going to get Jeff some ice.”

Abed nods too. “Yup, we heard.”

“Oh.” Annie didn’t seem to know what else to say, so she just gives another firm nod. As does Abed. And then Annie again. Obviously Jeff has to do something or else risk becoming locked in a never-ending nod-off. It seems the kind of thing Abed would take seriously.

“So!” He slips his arm down so it’s no longer supporting Annie’s and instead takes her hand. Annie looks up at him, having to crane her neck adorably just to fully meet his eyes. The smile she gives him is full of emotions Jeff has been avoiding the majority of his life. 

They don’t seem too bad, at the moment.

Breaking the eye contact, he turns back to the group. “We’ll just go and get that ice so my hand doesn’t freeze up.” He considers this. “Ironically.” He squeezes Annie’s hand gently and they head to the door.

“Hey Annie?” Britta calls after them. They pause in their leaving and turn to look at her. “Save you a seat?” Britta asks with a slight smile, sliding her bag into Annie’s vacated front row desk. 

“ _Britta_ …” Annie starts but chokes off with emotion. Instead she settles with beaming and nodding emphatically, squeezing Jeff’s hand and shaking it a little. The girl is practically vibrating with happy energy and, well. If some of that didn’t rub off on Jeff, he’d have no soul right?

So maybe he’s grinning like a fool. And maybe when Annie bounces out the door, tugging him behind her, he might be laughing. 

And maybe when they pushed through the doors of the caf to ask Silent Agnes for some ice, Jeff doesn’t even flinch. 

After all, the cafeteria isn’t _so_ bad.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is from Okkervil River's song of approximately the same name. Check it out, it has a very Community vibe. Also big THANK YOU to whoever might have read this. I realize Community is a bit of a happy distant memory for most now, so whatever brought you here to read a fic set in a happy distant memory _within_ a happy distant memory, I'm certainly grateful. Hope you enjoyed, please kudos or comment if you did!


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